Bath Time Babies

In the beginning I used to say that we lucked out with our dogs when it came to bath time. I would post the pictures of my dogs grinning in the bath tub and accept all of the disbelief with smug satisfaction.

Yes,  yes these are my dogs.

No,  no I didn't have to drag them down the hallway.

Yes,  they got in by themselves.

No,  I didn't have to smear peanut butter on the walls, 

Or up my arms 

Or on their faces.

Yes, I might just be magic!

The truth, if I put aside my swollen ego, is that my dogs' love of the bath had very little to do with me, at all. It took no training (except to teach Target the sign for “bath”, which he knows) and was purely a product of how spoiled and loved they were as puppies.  Target even loved his baths so much, that one night when I signed to him that “Mom was taking a bath”, I turned around to find him gone, soaking in my already full and bubbly bath water! 

Of course, I couldn’t just make him get out without cleaning him or my house would stink like wet dog, so I had to wash him.  The whole time he was holding up his leg, letting me wash his armpits and rub his belly.  He was so pleased with himself for his trick! He knows the difference between “Mom takes a bath” & “Target takes a bath”.  It didn’t occur to me that there was a reason for their love for baths until their dad went away on business. 

Their dad, or The Bath Master, as I now call him, made sure that when they were puppies, every bath was like a spa day.  It was also how he bonded with them when they first came home with us.  On bath days, as I tidied up or entertained whichever dog wasn’t being bathed, I could vaguely make out some chatting, splashing, shaking and towel rubbing.  Sometimes, I’d mom paw-parazzi them and sneak in to take pictures. Other than that I left them to it.

Big… Mistake.

The Bath Master went away one weekend for a few days and Target decided to roll in a mud puddle in protest.  I readied the bathtub, shampoo and towel, then signed to Target that it was bath time.  He stepped right in and we were ready to go!

Apparently, not. 

It seemed that whatever The Master did during the baths, I wasn’t doing it.  Target sat through his bath, bolt upright, staring at me.  Judging me.  There was no happy wagging, no ears up or happy grunts when I scratched him.  It was very clear, that while mama was good for many things, I was not good at bath time.

After the first bath failure, I did what any good parent does.  I called their Dad.

“Which order do you do it in? Scratches then shampoo?”

“Ok, I towel their body first… no no, their faces under their ears, ruffle, then the body?”

I took his advice and did everything I could do except write it down.

I think that the next week, Target had a little more sympathy for how hard I tried.  He didn’t look at me with the same condescension as the first time, but still, I knew I didn’t have the knack for bath time.

I would continue to try as the years went on, but there was always something about the connection the dogs had with their dad that would make him the go to bath guy.  Even though for the sake of the dogs, I would try and make their bath times as enjoyable as he did, but for their dad’s sakes I didn’t try very hard.  There were so many things that the boys wanted me to do for them.  I was the one that could wrap their bandages if they got scraped paws, I felt tummies for hints of fevers if they looked under the weather and I was the one who taught Target all of his sign language.

All of those things considered?  I was ok taking a backseat at bath time.